Lost and Found
by piyo-nii
Summary: Kurapika's on the Black Whale with a fairly straightforward mission: secure the Scarlet Eyes, protect the baby, and successfully explore the Dark Continent. ...So, it's not as simple as he'd hoped. But he'd be damned before he admitted that to anyone. Along the way, he has five conversations that lead him to discover more about himself.
1. Purity

_This is going to be a collection of 5 different drabbles. Each one will have Kurapika talking to a different person. If you have any questions, feel free to message me!_

 _Also, I don't own Hunter x Hunter, yadda yadda yadda. :-)_

* * *

Besides Woble's occasional snore and the hurried scratches of Oito's pencil, the royal chambers were blanketed with a thick sheet of silence. Kurapika liked to believe that between the looming dubiousness of the Dark Continent and the damned Succession War, silence was a sign of peace, calm, _rest_.

The Kurta stifled a sardonic laugh at the thought of rest because, really, when was the last time he managed to sleep more than three hours at a time? Currently, Kurapika was almost certain he'd spent more time knocked out cold than slumbering in a comfortable bed " _like a normal person,"_ as Bill liked to remind him constantly. But in his defense, a normal person wasn't tasked with the responsibility of guarding an infant from assassins or scouring the underworld for the eyes of his slain kin.

Somewhere above, the Gods were surely laughing at the boy. Leave it to his twisted luck to land him in the middle of a political fuck fest before voluntarily exploring the closest equivalent to Hell on Earth.

Kurapika was never one to underestimate danger, but the situation became much more real after the death of Prince Momoze. And while he usually had a firm grasp on his sense of professionalism, being the target of Oito's scorn had triggered the slightest hint of shame within his hardened heart. It took a few more seconds than usual for the Kurta to swallow his humiliation and assert that his only objective was to protect her and her child.

Well, that, and to retrieve the scarlet eyes from Tserriednich. But one look into Prince Woble's clear, naïve eyes was enough to convince the blond that she didn't deserve this – she deserves to _live_.

It's Woble's unjudging stare and Oito's quiet resoluteness that keeps Kurapika from breaking the heavy silence in the room. Even if the Queen made a personal vow to never converse with him again, nothing could convince him to abandon the mother-daughter pair.

To his surprise, Queen Oito's voice pierces the veil first, her pencil halting its movements momentarily. "I… must apologize," she began quietly, gaze still focused on the scratch paper in front of her. "I know you're just as averse to this unnecessary bloodshed as I am. It's just, Prince Momoze…"

"…Shouldn't have died," the Kurta continued for her when she began to trail off. His voice, normally even and composed, came out much rougher than he preferred. Whether it was the result of teaching _nen_ to a group of boisterous brutes or insufficient rest, he couldn't tell.

Oito hummed in quiet agreement as she reached towards the sleeping Prince with her other hand. "She was so young," the royal murmured softly as she caressed Woble's cheek. "She was not my daughter, but we are family." She sighed. "We all are."

The Kurta couldn't help but swallow thickly at this. It reminded him of a much younger Kurapika, dirt caking his fingers as he dug the grave of a rather sour old woman who did nothing but antagonize the clan's youth. Regardless of whether they had gotten along or not, there was nothing the boy wanted more than to see his brethren's faces, to hear their voices once more. "That is why we're here, your Majesty," Kurapika replies almost monotonously, as if he had practiced this line countless times before. "We won't let the same fate befall Prince Woble-"

Suddenly, fiery, obsidian irises are pointed straight at him, burning with a passion that is all-too-familiar to the blond. "I am aware of your purpose, seeing as I am the one who commissioned you in the first place." Behind the careful mask of regality that all nobles seem to don, anger and disappointment and familial love swirl in the depths of her tired eyes. "But why must it be this way? Why must we be forced to spill our own blood?"

The Queen paused abruptly, as if she realized her voice had gotten higher and more desperate. Kurapika simply stared at the wall ahead, if only to pretend as if the lapse had never happened.

"If the other Princes were as amicable as you, your Majesty, Bill and I could extend our services to them, like you requested," he eventually says, even if the Queen's back was currently turned to him. "However, there are people who want Prince Woble dead. I won't be redundant, but please understand that at this present moment, you and your daughter are our priority."

From his position in the corner of the room, Kurapika sees her nod. "I understand. Again, I am deeply sorry. I know you two are trying your best, and I am extremely grateful for your help."

The Queen can't see him, but the blond is shaking his head, as if the action was enough to convey what he truly wanted to say. _Don't apologize, you have every right to be angry. This bullshit game is absurd, and no one should have to go through this._

Kurapika settles with, "There's no need to apologize," and a weary smile when she turns to look at him.

Several moments of silence passed again as the Queen watched Woble's sleeping form. The clock's hands slowly inched towards seven o'clock – the end of his shift and the beginning of Bill's – and the boy couldn't help but wonder if he had enough time to briefly visit the medical ward. He could imagine Leorio having another aneurysm after discovering that the blond's eye bags had only gotten darker, and Kurapika didn't know whether he should smile or frown at the image.

"On second thought," Oito's drained voice called from the bed, pulling the Kurta out of his musings, "You're rather young, as well." She's seated to fully face him now, her face showing no trace of the frustration from earlier. "What brought you into this business in the first place?"

To be fair, it was an honest question. Given Kurapika's hobbies and personality, he didn't exactly seem like the type of person who aspired to be a bodyguard for a living. The boy suppressed a sigh out of respect, instead taking that moment to think of a proper answer. "It's good money at times," he replies almost reluctantly. The old Kurapika would have berated him for justifying a job purely for its monetary value. "And as a new Hunter, I thought it was a decent first job."

Oito's stare could have intimidated a lesser man, but the Kurta's time in the mafia had trained him well enough. She seemed to believe him. At least, she didn't outright protest his response. But there was a knowing glint in her obsidian gaze that led him to think otherwise.

"Fair enough," she concedes with a practiced smile, and the blond suddenly feels like a young child who's trying to lie to his mother. The Queen stood up from her bed, albeit slowly to avoid waking Woble. Paper in hand, she approached Kurapika, who, she noticed, never slouched or relaxed, even when she wasn't in the vicinity. Two delicate hands held the paper towards the Kurta, who eyed it curiously before taking it from her grasp.

He had assumed she was jotting down the other Princes' locations or writing a diary entry of some sort, but instead of her graceful cursive, the paper depicted a blooming lotus flower, its petals bright and delicate and beautiful against the grey waters. Kurapika couldn't help but gaze at her work in awe. After all, he couldn't draw something so intricate yet simplistic in a million years, and here she was, sketching away as if half the boat didn't want her infant daughter dead.

The boy raised his gaze to meet Oito's, and although he wasn't aware, the Queen took note of the faint boyish gleam in his brown eyes. She stared for a moment before deciding that this was the youngest he's ever looked.

"This is amazing, your Majesty," he finally breathed out, lips curled upwards ever-so-slightly. He motions to hand it back to her, but the Queen backs away, answering his confused stare with a pleased look on her face.

Oito clasped her hands behind her back to further show that she had no intention to take the sketch back. "Please, keep it," she insisted, shaking her head firmly as Kurapika opened his mouth to protest. "I had mentioned to you before that I grew up in poverty," she began to explain, and the boy idly wondered if she was just trying to distract him. "As a middle child, I wasn't quite old nor strong enough to do physical labor. So, I practiced nearly daily for years until I was decent enough to accept commissions."

He had almost forgotten about her bleak past, given the Succession War business and all. However, being reminded of it was almost sobering, and the blond couldn't help but feel his respect for the royal grow. The Kurta bit the inside of his right cheek subconsciously – a habit for whenever he was in deep thought – as he examined the flower once more. "If I'm not mistaken, the lotus represents purity in Kakin culture, correct?"

The Queen nodded. "Yes, as well as spiritual awakening, faithfulness, and rebirth." She eyed him with a measured look, searching for any sign of understanding in his features. Unsurprisingly, he stared back with quiet curiosity. "I like to draw them every once in a while. They remind me of where I came from, how I got here," she told him gingerly, and when he looks up, her sights are focused far away, not unlike the times where he daydreams about emerald forests and Pairo's light laughter.

Oito exhaled slowly. "I know very little about you, but there's one thing I can confidently deduce." Kurapika stills, and he can't quite explain why the Queen is making him feel so anxious. She then pushes the lotus drawing closer to his chest, almost as if she wants him to hug it. "You are still so, so young. The way you carry yourself… it's like you're consciously marching towards your deathbed."

The boy's face remains blank with deliberate professionalism, but her statement bears heavy on his stomach. "You could say that," he says, swallowing a lump in his throat, "but I don't quite understand your point, your Majesty."

She regards him contemplatively, and it takes nearly everything he's got to not fidget in discomfort. "Don't forget who you are," she ultimately replies, voice edged with a regal authority befitting of her role. "I will not order nor force you to tell me your life story. It is not my place to delve into your past."

Kurapika releases a breath he didn't realize he was holding, but his stomach is in knots and the room is too hot and he doesn't know what to say. He could give her his default _'my business is my own'_ spiel, but low-rank or not, she's still royalty.

Her small hand is suddenly on his shoulder, causing him to tense up immediately. "It's okay to grow up. It's a part of life. But when all's said and done, you're going to be tired. And when that happens, it's good to think about the boy you used to be." One look into her obsidian eyes, and Kurapika could have sworn that he saw a flash of familiar, pacific blue irises, like the ones his mother had.

He should respond. He should at least acknowledge her advice, maybe even thank her for her words. But his voice remains clamped in his throat, and suddenly the boy isn't so sure he could trust himself to say anything without choking. If she was anyone else, the Kurta could easily deflect her with a practiced coldness. But again, she's a fucking _queen_ , and Kurapika had sworn to keep a lid on his usual impulsive nature. The blond's lips are tightly sealed, but his eyes tell Oito all that she needs to know. She smiles one last time before walking towards Woble.

"Bill will be here soon. You're free to prepare to leave," she says off-handedly, brushing some of her daughter's hair to the side. Kurapika's still frozen in his corner of the room, but he at least manages to nod silently. A few moments later, he's doing his usual departure routine – securing all possible exits, replacing the batteries on all their communicative devices, and a whole list of other things she would deem unnecessary under normal circumstances. But alas, Woble had no choice but to enter the War, and Oito was willing to go to the ends of the Earth for her child.

When Bill finally arrives, Kurapika gives him an affirmative nod before waving to Queen Oito and the now-awake Prince Woble. Normally, this is where the blond exits without a word. But this time, the Kurta gives the three of them a small, polite smile before closing the door behind him.

Woble laughs at the incredulous look on Bill's face, who's too busy sputtering, "Your Majesty, did you see that?! The Ice King _smiled_!"

* * *

Unaware of the commotion in Oito's royal chambers, said Ice King lingered at the end of the corridor, eyes unfocused and fists clenched. No one said he had to listen to her. She was his current employer, nothing more. _Nothing is more important than securing justice for my clan._

But even he couldn't deny the days where it hurt to get up from bed. He couldn't shrug off the fact that whenever he thinks of revenge, his heart pounds in time with a thousand war drums, but his knees threaten to buckle from under him due to sheer exhaustion.

Kurapika considers the walk to the medical ward before shaking his head and trudging to his room. _There's no time to sleep_ , his mind screams, _I'll never find Tserriednich! The eyes, the eyes,_ _ **the eyes!**_

That night, he dreamt of burnt huts, Woble's laughter, and his mother's embrace.


	2. Stronger

_This is in Mizai's POV. Thanks for the support!_

* * *

 _"Medium blond hair, cat-like brown eyes, semi-permanent frown on his face – you can't miss him," the Boar had explained excitedly, seemingly not caring about the glint in his eyes and the lilt in his voice. For a second, Mizaistom had to wonder if he was still talking about his comrade, and not a young woman he'd met at a bar. "And if he tries to turn you down, well, just haul him over your shoulder, 'cause he's never gonna listen otherwise…"_

 _Leorio paused. "Actually, don't do that. He might punch you."_

* * *

Blond, aggressive, and angsty. After consulting Ging's replacement, the Ox had pictured a brute of a man who believed the whole world was against him. Sure, he dealt with criminals and the like on a daily basis, but Mizaistom made it a point to evaluate every person he met holistically. One can only assume such things, however, when you step into a room full of armed, burly men, and _hadn't that one been on Yorknew's Most Wanted list a year ago-_

Color him surprised when he was greeted by a lithe, quiet young lad whose gaze held a sorrow well-beyond his years. Even when his eyes flashed a dangerous scarlet – deeper than freshly-spilt blood, brighter than the most lustrous rubies – the boy's aura was eerily calm. One could say that this was the mark of a cold, seasoned mafioso.

Instead, Mizaistom decided that he liked the kid.

The prospective Rat never talked unless it was necessary, but his words were always precise, delivered with a sophistication that could rival Cheadle's. And while Kurapika was incredibly blunt, the Ox couldn't help but prefer it over Pariston's infuriating wiles.

A politician's tricks weren't needed on the Black Whale. No, not when thousands of lives were at stake, and the Kakin Royal Family was being forced to assassinate each other not only for the throne, but because _why not?_

It was a relief to know that he could trust Kurapika on his side of the operation, as he had done nothing but prove his value time and time again. But whenever they were in the same room, just like now, it took a great deal of resolve to not comment on the boy's wrinkled suit, or the prominent dark circles under his eyes. The kid was working himself to death, and Mizaistom couldn't trust himself to intervene when he had to stop his own tongue from possibly pushing him over the edge.

He considered telling the Rat about his encounter with the Zoldycks. Hell, if he were in the Kurta's position, he'd _definitely_ want to know if his mortal enemies were sneaking around right under his nose.

All it took was one glance at the Kurta's drooping eyelids and trembling hands. The words twisted and died in the Ox's throat. _Perhaps… it wouldn't hurt to wait a while._ Nothing could lessen the severity of the news, but Mizaistom figured it was safer to ensure that Kurapika wouldn't shut down and, Gods forbid, _self-implode_ , or something.

The older man watched as the blond examined a map of the boat, which was marked with hastily-scribbled notes and various colored circles. After the sudden appearance of Prince Fugetsu, the Intelligence Team was scrambling to figure out how the _hell_ she snuck off to an entirely different part of the ship. When they tried asking her, the attention must have been extremely overwhelming, as the poor Prince had sputtered, _"T-There was a door, and I went through-! I wanted to know how to go to other places, too, and- and- I'm so… tired,"_ before promptly passing out.

As helpful as that was, they had no choice but to wait for the slumbering girl to awaken. The Ox took note of some of Kurapika's low utterances – something about "Guardian Spirit Beast", "extremely draining", and… "portals"?

"Interesting conjectures, for sure," Mizaistom eventually commented, causing the blond to look up from his work. "But until she wakes up, it's pretty much a guessing game."

He could have sworn he saw a flicker of dismay in Kurapika's dark irises, but it quickly gave way to a careful blankness. "Oh, I definitely agree. It's just that I prefer to have an abstract concept on hand rather than absolutely nothing," the boy replied in his usual no-nonsense tone.

The Ox clicked his tongue – whether it was in acknowledgement or disagreement, the Rat didn't ask. But if the slight curl of the older man's lips was any indication, he hoped it conveyed how impressed he was. "Couldn't have said it better myself."

Kurapika was always guarded, but there were moments where he would subconsciously expose the chinks in his armor. Sometimes, it showed in the hitch of his breath when he found something particularly amusing but refused to laugh, or the wrinkles on his nose whenever he tried to suppress a smile. In this case, the blond eyed him skeptically, mouth opening to seemingly say something before closing shut.

A few tense moments passed between the two, with Kurapika staring holes into the map and Mizaistom observing silently. The older of the two cleared his throat and shifted to lean on the wall.

"Botobai told me about your 'crash course' in _nen_ ," he mentioned. The man tried to sound friendly enough, but as Kanzai oh-so-lovingly liked to say, _"you smile like you have a stick up your ass."_ And although the Tiger could be straight-up insufferable at times, Mizaistom couldn't bring himself to entirely disagree.

Kurapika tapped his pen on the desk before looking up to meet his gaze. "It seemed like the logical thing to do," he muttered back, and Mizaistom almost wants to mention how his cheeks had sunken in slightly, or that his skin now held a sickly pallor, almost akin to the paper in front of him. "If each Prince has access to the same knowledge, the same resources, we could at least stall the inevitable bloodbath."

"Level out the playing field," the Ox echoed affably. "You're probably tired of hearing this, but you're a natural at this kind of stuff."

The Kurta shuffled uncomfortably, but if the praise flustered him, his face didn't show a thing. "I'm only doing my job."

"Never said you weren't. You're skilled and extremely capable, and I want you to know that." The Ox was never one to beat around the bush, and he wasn't about to start out of the blue.

He shuffled around some more. "Well… thank you?" The blond's frown was unflappable, but years of field experience had taught Mizaistom better. The single drop of sweat that rolled down the side of his nape, the way he lightly bit the side of his cheek – the boy was flummoxed. Besides those less-than-obvious tells, however, Kurapika had a damn good poker face. "…I don't mean to be difficult- "

Mizaistom interrupted him with a casual swat of his wide hand. "Nah, don't sweat it, kid. I understand." The dismissal sounded callous, but anyone who knew him well could tell that he bore no ill will. "But anyway, how are you feeling? Do you think you can see yourself as a part of our team yet?"

Kurapika ceased his fidgeting to close his eyes in deep thought. "I haven't checked in with the other divisions since our last meeting," the Rat eventually admitted. Mizaistom chose to ignore how he failed to mention _why_ he was so busy, although the man imagined it involved sleepless nights and long, uneasy waiting games with his young charge. "Leorio is… Leorio, but having him here is nice, I guess."

The Ox hummed. "He's a _'fists first, questions later'_ kind of guy," he added, noting the blond's quiet chuckle in the background.

"He's an idiot." The statement came out of the Kurta's lips almost effortlessly, but there was a distinct lack of malice in his words. The boy paused, a shadow of hesitation passed through his features. "And a good friend."

Mizaistom couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. He sounded so… _guilty._

He didn't dwell on it too long, though, as the odd emotion had instantly vanished from Kurapika's face. A heartbeat later, and the boy was back to his reserved, somber self. "Sometimes I wonder if he minds that he got dragged into all of this." It's difficult to imagine anyone who would even remotely enjoy being in their situation. "He's not even done with medical school. I know he's getting credit, but still."

"Why don't you ask him?" Maybe the answer was obvious enough, but Mizaistom felt like trying his luck, anyway.

"Sure. As if I could spare the time to pay him constant visits."

The older man shrugged, not completely agreeing or disagreeing. "He's probably busy as well."

"Probably." His voice sounded forcefully detached.

For someone so serious, he was a pretty shitty liar. Not that the Ox minded too much, of course – he had enough of that from Kurapika's predecessor, and the Zodiacs needed more honest people. Even so, why did the blond feel the need to act so indifferent? "I haven't known him for long, but I don't think the Boar is the type to dwell on the bad. He's crass, but he seems like he as a big heart."

"Too big, maybe," Kurapika blurted back, and Mizaistom could _feel_ the conflict raging inside of his young colleague. It was an ugly, heady tingle that formed in the back of his skull before shooting down his spine, and if the Ox could sense the remnants of such negatively this keenly, it was a miracle the kid was still functional.

"That's not a bad thing. We need more people like him in the world."

The Kurta snorted, but the ghost of a wistful smile appeared on his face. "Sounds like something Leorio would say."

If the two of them were closer, Mizaistom might have told him to make up his damn mind. Kurapika was smart, but he's also young and inexperienced. The older man wasn't comfortable enough to sit down and have a heart-to-heart with the kid right there and then, yet there was still a small part of him that wanted to pull the Kurta to the side, look him straight in the eye and assure him that _you don't have to do things by yourself, we're all a part of a team for a reason, your friends care about you and you should be grateful._

Shit. Maybe he needed a drink. "Do you regret coming along?"

For a second, Kurapika looked as if he was caught off-guard. He eyed Mizaistom intensely, brown boring into black. "…No," the boy answered with an admirable confidence. "No, I don't. It's an annoying situation, but I could never forgive myself if I consciously turned a blind eye on what could have happened."

The Ox couldn't hold back his smile, and he didn't particularly care if it looked more like a pained grimace than anything else. Kurapika, at least, had the good graces to not comment. "You know, you remind me of – well, me." A pause. "Er, a younger me, that is."

The blond wasn't looking at him, but he could tell his interest was piqued. "How so?"

* * *

 _Smoke filling his lungs, hands bloody, bruised, the right one's probably broken-_

 _-crying? Why is everyone screaming? Where is everyone, what's going on? Where's-_

 _"M-Mizai!" An explosion loud enough to destroy eardrums, almost as loud as his harsh sobs. "MIZAI!"_

 _Pain as sharp as a thousand needles piercing his chest, and his mind is screaming for him to stop but his heart continues to pump blood into his legs. I'm alive, I've got no excuse, I need to find him-_

 _Corpses lie on beds of ash and regret, this wasn't part of the plan-_

* * *

"Ever heard of the Luccheseas?"

A spark of recognition came to life in the boy's eyes. It's an unfamiliar look, and Mizaistom could almost envision a similar, yet different nineteen-year-old – one with honey gold hair, a penchant for learning, and untouched by the silent rage that chains him to his past.

"They were the lords of Zaban City. Well, up until about ten years ago," Kurapika recited, sounding every bit like an encyclopedia entry. "My previous employer had some… erm, _possessions_ of theirs," he revealed with a deep frown, and the Ox had almost forgotten that this boy used to be involved with the Nostrades. The man must question, though, what he meant by _'possessions'_ … It's a question for another time.

* * *

 _"I gave you orders, you son of a bitch!" The Chief was livid. If looks could kill, she would have murdered the man a hundred times over. Mizaistom would never find another moment in his life where he felt this much fear._

 _"He was right behind me, Sir- "_

 _"He's certainly not behind you now, is he?!" Suddenly, his cheek stung; he felt the sharp crack of bone on bone as her knuckles met with his jaw. The coppery taste of blood filled his senses, and a heavy seed of shame took root in his stomach._

 _It was an accident. …No, not entirely. He willingly went in first, adrenaline pumping, hands itching for a fight. Hans trailing right behind him like always, a permanent smile on his face and that damned glimmer of unadulterated veneration in his hazel orbs. 'I trust you,' he had said, and Mizaistom felt strong, so strong, in that moment._

 _His mouth opens to apologize, but he's met with the chief's infamous right-hook again, and even though his hand is broken and his bottom lip had split, nothing hurts more than the gaping hole in his heart, the heart that was touched by Hans' sincere, blind belief in him._

* * *

"On the night of the 83rd mayoral election, the Zaban City Municipal Police Force orchestrated a raid on their estate," Kurapika continued, keen brown eyes watching the older man carefully.

Mizaistom nodded. "I used to be a member of the Special Task Unit. The Luccheseas were wanted for political corruption, human trafficking, extortion – you name it, they've probably done it."

The Rat's lips remained sealed, and if it wasn't for the faint red that rimmed his eyes, the older man would have thought he regarded these crimes with the same nonchalance as the Sunday morning news. "That was the mission that got you promoted, wasn't it?"

If the Ox was five years younger, grief and failure and self-hatred would bloom at the thought of his greatest achievement, his worst mistake. When he turned to face Kurapika, his heart stilled for a fraction of a second when he saw hazel instead of chestnut brown. The eyes of a dead man on a man that practically wants to be dead. Oh, the irony.

"To become a Double-Star Hunter, you need a student strong enough to be promoted to a Single-Star." In the recesses of his brain, memories of late night training sessions and lukewarm black coffee played over and over again.

Shallow cuts and bruised kneecaps, _'I'm okay, really,'_ he would say, aura brimming with determination. "His name was Hans."

* * *

 _The door broke open with a loud 'bang!'. Bullets rained from the sky and met the ground in puddles of blood. Only amateurs had to worry about guns. They were better than that, stronger than them. Mizaistom charged in with the confidence of predator, the filthy, inhumane scum dressed in pinstripe suits being his prey._

 _They did everything together, and this was no exception. Hans stood by as their team subdued each member of the Lucchesea Family one by one until their patriarch, Zacharias, was the only one left. Hans jokingly said that Mizaistom could easily take him on solo. He voiced his disagreement outwardly, but he couldn't suppress the pride that bubbled in his gut._

 _He never saw it coming. Zacharias, eyes wide and hands shaking. He had charged straight for Mizaistom, a blur of frenzied panic and acceptance of his inevitable death. It was too slow, too fast, and the Hunter was ready to trap him at a moment's notice-_

 _Until Hans, sweet, poor Hans, threw himself in front of his mentor because Zacharias' gait was too suspicious, and how did he not notice the odd lump hidden beneath his clothing-_

 _A blinding light, scorching heat – drywall and pieces of the ceiling obstructed everything from Mizaistom's view, leaving him completely blind and helpless and angry, but scared-_

 _Somewhere far below, a familiar voice called his name. It wasn't a cry for help – it was an apology._

* * *

Kurapika is still silent, but the shadows in his gaze are replaced with quiet sorrow. "The Luccheseas were caught systematically, with the exception of Zacharias Lucchesea, who committed suicide by strapping a bomb to his chest."

The older man, despite himself, gave the blond an affirmative nod. "Only two members of the STU survived the operation." He still remembered the cheerful congratulations from those who stayed at the station. Some were wise and said nothing, for they knew that his gain came with a significant sacrifice. "My boss became the Director. I was recruited by Chairman Netero himself."

Netero's eyes were deceptively blank when they met. He had placed his hand on Mizaistom's shoulder, and he had heard stories of the man's prowess, but a single touch was enough to make his knees quiver. An apology, then congratulations. Hans would be promoted for his service, while his mentor would have the honor of becoming a Double-Star Hunter. The old man shifted the conversation towards cows and something about an advising committee, but he had tuned it out – his mind could focus on nothing but _Hans._

* * *

 _"Don't get me wrong, Nana. In our line of work, lives are lost every day." The Chief's strong, authoritative voice took on the bleak flatness of a recent loss. "But don't you ever forget…_

 _…This is what happens when you get greedy."_

* * *

"…Why are you telling me this?" The Kurta tried his best to maintain an even tone, but his voice, to his dismay, started to crack near the end.

Mizaistom pierced him with a level, complex stare. To be honest, he wasn't exactly sure where he was going with this. The memory just fleshed out on its own. But when he thought of himself back then – strong, proud, reckless – he could also remember how dedicated he was to preserving justice and peace and everything good. Much like a certain blond who was barely out of his teens and already hell-bent on the road to self-destruction.

The older man's mouth opens, then closes. A quick exhale. "I don't want you to make the same mistake I did," he eventually confessed, and when he sneaks a peek at Kurapika's gaze, it's veiled by some unreadable emotion.

"I'm going to need more of an explanation," the boy articulated in response, each word heavy with implication. …He was offended. Understandable. But to his credit, the kid was willing to hear him out.

"I thought my life was over." First, it was the denial. He had vehemently refused Netero's offer at first, claiming that he didn't deserve the pity. Then came the depression, which cascaded over him like a colossal tidal wave. He had quit the police force. Countless aspiring Pro Hunters hopped up to his doorstep in hopes of becoming his student, but Mizaistom had denied every last one of them. The man had stopped taking assignments, and it worsened to the point where he wasn't making enough to cover his monthly rent. "I felt like I didn't deserve to be alive. If anyone should have died- " the Ox paused when Kurapika's eyes flashed a haunting scarlet, but it was gone as soon as it appeared. "…it should have been me."

The two shared a somber look of understanding before the Kurta broke the silence. "I can relate," he muttered, not unlike a sulking young boy in the middle of a lecture.

"The important thing is, I don't feel like that anymore." Mizaistom ignored the incredulous look on the blond's face. "I can never forget what happened. Hans was a one-in-a-million student." _Enthusiastic yells, nervous chuckles, quiet nights._ "But I forgave myself. I forgave myself for my carelessness and stupidity."

A beat. "It's high time you did the same."

A variety of things happened at once. The air in the room became eerily chilly, and the Ox could feel the tendrils of Kurapika's aura reaching for him, mocking him, daring him to say it again. The Rat was now standing, posture tense, red, angry eyes staring at him like a demon out of Hell. His breathing remained calm, but the boy was at his deadliest when silent.

"How dare you," the Kurta managed to force out, and the gems that are his eyes are threatening to spill tears of blood. He hesitated as if he realized just exactly who he was challenging, but being the intelligent, stubborn man that he is, he didn't back down.

Mizaistom didn't feel personally affronted by his response, but it was a little tiresome to watch. The boy was clearly furious and rearing for a challenge. Even so, it was almost impossible to take him seriously when he also looked frail enough to be blown over by the slightest gust of wind. The older of the two knew that Kurapika was aware of this, too. Should matters escalate even further, the Kurta's poor condition made his chances of victory slim to none.

So, the Ox opted to stay silent. Contrary to his casual stance, he was slightly on-guard, but only slightly; any more than that might trigger a violent reaction. He observed cautiously as the blond controlled his breathing, closed his eyes, and attempted to placate his wild, pulsing aura.

Several minutes passed, and Mizaistom only dared to speak when Kurapika's eyes held only a tinge of red. "You're stronger than I was at the time." A large lump formed in the middle of the man's throat, and consequences be damned, the kid needed to know – he wouldn't be able to keep it down for much longer. "You have a future. You might not see it now, but trust me; your friends and family would want you to live, for _them_."

And there it was. The hitch of his breath, the widening of his eyes. Kurapika looked uncharacteristically vulnerable, and in that second, Mizaistom could see all of the pain and guilt and _why does it have to be me?_ It was like looking into a mirror from his past. The older man wasn't one for hugs, but this was probably the closest he's ever been to initiating one.

He gave the Kurta a few moments for himself to gather his thoughts. Again, he gets it. This is pretty overwhelming stuff. Unsurprisingly, Kurapika manages to spring back relatively quickly, if his tranquil aura is anything to go by. The indifferent mask he liked to don, however, was missing. Without his nonchalant façade, all Mizaistom could see was an exhausted twig of a man, and damn if the image didn't tug lightly at his heartstrings. Must be his rusty mentor's senses kicking in.

"Are you still planning on going after the Phantom Troupe after you gather all of the eyes?" The Ox's gaze is steely and unyielding.

"Yes," is Kurapika's automatic reply, but there's no passion to it – just defeated emptiness.

"…Are you sure about that?" He asks again. The boy is silent this time, his chest rising and falling with shallow, laborious breaths.

"I-I… don't know." He murmured so quietly, Mizaistom had to strain his ears. No doubt about it, Kurapika was still struggling with his anger – his fists clenched and unclenched repeatedly. "I really… hate fighting," he added, finally looking up to meet the Ox's stare. His eyes are hauntingly hollow, either from exhaustion or defeat – most likely both. "I don't like the smell of blood, the pain, the…"

His voice fell short as the shadows on his face grew darker. The older man wasn't sure what the Kurta was thinking about, but he had a pretty good guess. "Look, kid. You're not a killer." Kurapika doesn't respond, but he knows the words reached him regardless. "Don't force yourself to become something you're not. Just live in the present, okay? You're already capable of accomplishing amazing things. Trust me when I say that whatever you think the answer to your problem is, it probably won't make you feel better at all."

The Kurta nodded slowly, but he still refused to make eye-contact. "Maybe."

Mizaistom recited a quick mental prayer before closing his eyes anxiously. "I trust you. You are a man of honor, and I- " he thinks for a second, "no, we _all_ know that you'll stick to your word."

Kurapika's breathing stilled, and the Ox briefly wondered if he knew what he was about to say next.

"I ran into a… very reputable source," Mizaistom reported methodically, if only to hide his nervousness from the blond. "The Phantom Troupe is currently on board as we speak. They probably snuck in as stowaways, but Botobai and I will be keeping an eye out. The Defense Team will also be notified…"

The man half-anticipated screaming, shouting, maybe even some flying items? ...But it never came.

Kurapika's form was motionless. Uncannily so, he might add. Mizaistom had half the mind to believe he was unconscious if it wasn't for the slight rise and fall of his shoulders. When chestnut brown orbs finally met obsidian, they weren't burning with the fury of a million suns. Instead, they were devoid of emotion, framed with heavy bags of sagging skin. "Just my luck, right?" the blond asked with an uncharacteristic drawl.

Odd. He expected another blaze of anger to erupt right in front of him – he had prepared another speech and everything. The Kurta was a passionate person, and seeing him just accept their presence was highly disconcerting. Hell, for all he knew, it could all be an act. The blond could be plotting to search the entire damn boat the second he left.

"It's just a coincidence," Mizaistom forced himself to say. He couldn't tell if the Kurta was taking the news well or plotting to jump off the railing at any second. In any case, he _strongly_ hoped it was the former.

The boy eventually sighed and scratched the back of his head. "I guess I should thank you," he remarked, shocking the Ox even more. "It's probably better for me to know now than waiting until I ran right into them." The blond gave him an empty, sardonic smile. "Who knows how I might react."

…If that was his attempt at a joke, it was _really_ sad. But being the Good Samaritan he is, Mizaistom managed to conjure a weak, nervous chuckle. "Y-Yeah. Right."

Suddenly, the landline at the far end of the room started to ring, its shrill bell piercing the thick veil of awkwardness and tension. Before Mizaistom could bring himself to the phone, he looked back at Kurapika one last time.

"I saw that book you were reading the other day," the Ox proclaimed amicably, drawing a blank stare from the Kurta. "I've read it. It's a good one. I especially love the message at the end of the foreword."

Thin, blond eyebrows scrunched up in thought for a moment. "Astra inclinant, sed non obligant."

Mizaistom couldn't help but smirk at the knowing glint in Kurapika's eyes. He didn't seem very happy about it, but the quote spoke volumes in itself. "Don't let the Spiders drag you around like a piece of meat. You're better than that." With that, the older man turned his back on the Kurta to answer the call.

Damn kid was stubborn, all right. But if Kurapika's small, grateful smile meant anything, Mizaistom liked to think it showed his willingness to grow.

* * *

The quote means, "The stars incline us, they do not bind us". Also, I'm pretty sure Leorio will be next? We shall see!


	3. Solitude

And here's Leorio! Again, I don't own anything. Thanks for the support!

* * *

One week, twenty-two hours, and fifteen seconds – that was how long it took for Kurapika to trudge on down to the medical bay instead of making the usual beeline to his bed.

In his defense, the Kurta liked to believe he had gotten better at texting; instead of keeping his phone on silent indefinitely, he developed the habit of hastily typing a short, sweet reply whenever the other man bombarded him with questions. Unfortunately, that was about the extent of it, as any offers to hang out or meet up were dismissed with a curt, "I'm busy," or no response at all.

It wasn't like he was lying. He had Prince Woble, Tserriednich, and by some stroke of divine intervention, the damn _Phantom Troupe_ to worry about. Just the other day, Mizaistom had mentioned the possibility of the Black Whale sinking, and Kurapika would have called it the metaphorical cherry on top if he wasn't afraid of the very-likely chance of an even _bigger_ problem arising.

In the grand scheme of things, the blond had to wonder if drowning was really all that bad. But then he thought of sad, scarlet eyes encased in formaldehyde containers, and the boy was suddenly glad that they weren't currently in the room as him. They would surely be judging him for his weakness, his unwillingness to live and complete his mission. Surely, they would.

Maybe if he kept repeating this like a mantra, the doubt that clouded his heart and mind would eventually dissipate.

Kurapika shook his head. Now wasn't the time to dwell on that – not when the patrons around him were getting too close for comfort, and a certain medical student was downing his weight in imported beer. The overwhelming scent of booze and sweat did little to nurse his growing headache, and if another meat-headed drunkard mistook him for a lonely lady _one more time_ , Kurapika swore he was going to kick someone.

' _The things I do for you_ ,' the blond brooded momentarily as his companion triumphantly raised his eighth – probably ninth? – glass in the air. His mind prickled traitorously, forcing him to think about the times he _hadn't_ been there for his friends, but months of forced seclusion had taught Kurapika to will his conscience's erratic cries of _disappointment, misery, anger_ to sedated, barely-contained whispers.

Even in the midst of calling for another round, Leorio managed to feel the slight shift in the Kurta's aura. "H-Hey," he stuttered, cheeks flaming and eyes unfocused. "This is a no-pouty – _hic_ – zone!"

"Pouty?" Kurapika's face scrunched up in half-bemusement, half-disgust as he caught whiff of the alcohol that laced Leorio's breath. "I don't pout."

The taller of the two rolled his eyes dramatically before shifting to lean on the reluctant blond. "Whatever helps you sleep at night," he drawled absent-mindedly, eyeing Kurapika's glass of water with disdain. "Are 'ya sure you don't want something else to drink? I – _hic_ – already told you I'd pay– "

Kurapika interrupts him with a violent shake of his head, but he doesn't attempt to pry the medical student from his tense form. "And I already told you, I'm underaged." It's a flimsy excuse, but truth be told, he was never a huge fan of alcohol, or anything that could interfere with his senses. Hell, even now, keeping a lid on the impulses that murmured empty promises in his ear was difficult enough. He could imagine that being drunk would be a straight-up nightmare, both for himself and those within his vicinity.

" _Come ooooon!"_ There's a mischievous glint in Leorio's eyes, and before the blond could protest, he had already flagged down the bartender with a booming holler. "I need a glass of your finest red for my man here, _s–stat_!"

Kurapika shot the two of them an indignant scowl, but one was too sloshed to notice, while the other was probably jaded from dealing with a lifetime's worth of rude customers. He watched as the pudgy man expertly poured the blood-red liquid into a modest glass before sliding it in his direction.

Leorio gave him a playful nudge and waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "You know you wanna try it. Relax a little." Taking his already-filled mug in hand, he raised it towards the blond with an expectant look. "What's the drinking age in uncharted waters anyway, huh?"

The man might have been drunk out of his mind, but he had a point. Didn't mean Kurapika had to like it, though. He glared at the unassuming glass as if he could will it to disappear, but after a moment, he grasped its thin stem, hesitation apparent in his dark eyes. "Cheers," the blond muttered as their drinks met with a sharp _'clink'_. Leorio had instantly taken to his beer like a dehydrated man in the middle of a desert, while Kurapika took the slightest of gulps from his own beverage. Bitter, with hints of pomegranate. The wine slid down his throat, leaving a pleasant trail of warmth in its wake. He took another sip. Could be worse.

He tried to ignore Leorio's smug grin, which was poorly hidden behind his half-empty mug. "Told you – _hic_ – you'd like it."

"Shut up and finish your drink," the Kurta replied with a roll of his eyes, but there was no fire in his voice. Not needing to be told twice, the older man enthusiastically gulped down the remnants of the amber liquid.

Each sip he took was easier than the last, he discovered. By the time he had finished the first glass, Kurapika couldn't feel the burn that gathered in his gut. The boisterous ruckus around him had dulled to a muted buzz as he swirled his freshly-filled beverage lazily. Leorio had stopped ordering a while ago, instead taking the time to update the blond on the latest happenings on the third deck.

"…I mean, can you fucking – _hic_ – believe it? Damn bastards didn't show up for their damn jobs, so C–Cheadle's gotta clean up after 'em…" Leorio groaned, hands digging into his hair in aggravation. Kurapika stayed silent, but he allowed himself to feel the slightest bit of pity for his companion. With the medical staff totaling a fifth of what was originally intended, he couldn't imagine how swamped Leorio and the Chairman had been since their departure.

The taller man sighed tiredly, but despite his frustration, the curl of his lips never unfurled, and the amicable glint in his eyes never wavered. "It's a good thing she's so, uh," he trailed off to think for a moment, "capable. Yeah, that's the word. She's damn good at her job; I'd bet my left ass cheek the med wing would burn if she wasn't in c–charge."

Kurapika hummed in agreement, lips pursed against his wine glass. There's no denying the Chairman's natural aptitude for leadership, and she was practically a genius to boot. However, the blond couldn't shake off the indescribable feeling that twisted and coiled in his chest.

He silently wondered if Leorio ever praised him like that in front of the others. It wasn't likely, considering the only thing he was good at was taking months to reply to a simple phone call.

…Damn, he'd rather not think about this right now. He took another long swig of the red nectar.

"But seriously, enough about me." Leorio turned his attention back to his fair-haired companion, seemingly unfazed by said companion's blank stare.

A gulp. "What do you want to know?"

The older man's eyes narrowed in concentration; Kurapika wouldn't be surprised if he was having trouble gathering his thoughts. Still, there was something unnervingly sober about his piercing gaze. It was searching for something, and the Kurta wasn't sure if he was entirely comfortable with being probed while feeling so vulnerable. He wished he could say that such a fear was unfounded – they were friends, after all, and he had nothing to hide.

The blond's fingers twitched. He had nothing to hide, but it didn't change the unease that bound his words to his throat. Things… would be easier if he didn't involve the others. Attachments would only hinder him from his goal. They were a weakness that had already been exploited once, and Kurapika would rather _die_ than have it happen again.

Maybe it was time for him to return to his quarters. He opened his mouth to thank Leorio for accompanying him tonight, but the older man beat him to the punch.

"Y-You're a _fucking_ idiot," he had sputtered out, eyes wide with accusation and a strange desperation that Kurapika couldn't understand.

The Kurta blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You – _hic_ – heard me!" Suddenly, Leorio's warm, strong hands were grasping at his shoulders, and Kurapika could do nothing but gape dumbly as the medical student shook him back and forth. "You n–never call or text, and do you know how fucking anxious it makes me, knowing that you're – _hic_ – probably doing something stupid and self-destructive because you feel like you're obligated to–?"

Taupe irises narrowed, but the guilt gnawed away at his agitation. "You know I've been busy, Leorio. So have you." He raised his hands and placed them over Leorio's wider ones to push him away, but the older man refused to budge. "I'll admit that I get exhausted, sometimes. I don't want to take out my anger on you, so I try not to bother– "

" _Bullshit!"_ He cried, a million emotions passing over his flushed features within the span of a second. "Y–You're just avoiding me, and Gon and Killua, too. You're scared, o–or you think you can't rely on us because you'd be a burden." Leorio was always passionate, but the alcohol seemed to increase its intensity tenfold. His voice carried the weight of months of incessant worrying, and his mouth quivered with words left unsaid.

At that point, his outburst had attracted the attention of the other bar-goers, and Kurapika shivered under the scrutiny. "We should continue this somewhere else," the blond suggested quietly, still shocked by his friend's open, unadulterated honesty. Said friend's face held an odd mix of reluctance and determination, and the Kurta started to worry that he might have to wrestle the man out of there.

"I wish you'd lean on us more," he admitted softly. If it wasn't for the dazed look in his dark irises, Kurapika would've thought he had sobered up instantly. "I w–wish we didn't work so far away from each other. Maybe I could – _hic_ – keep a closer eye on you." His gaze fell. "I miss you."

Well, how was he supposed to respond to that? Kurapika supposed he had missed him, too. …No, he definitely did, but the blond didn't feel comfortable enough to vocalize it at the moment. He settled for an awkward pat on Leorio's broad shoulder. "I… I understand," he began slowly, eyeing the other man carefully for any signs of protest. "But I'm not a child. I don't need you to watch over me."

"Maybe I wouldn't feel that way if we didn't need to sic Mizai on you just because y–you decided to go MIA," Leorio retorted childishly, even going as far as crossing his arms to complete the effect. Kurapika had to suppress the urge to roll his eyes for what was probably the nth time.

Luckily, the lull in their conversation had lost the unwanted attention, and the rest of the bar was back to its usual chatty nature. Kurapika took Leorio's sudden silence as a chance to finish the rest of the wine in his glass. Occasionally, he would sneak glances at the medical student from the corners of his eyes. He seemed to be deep in thought – or fighting to stay conscious. Kurapika couldn't really tell.

The Kurta was handing the bartender some cash when Leorio finally broke the silence. "Hey, Kurapika. W–Would you let me take care of you if we got married?"

The blond's head whipped to the side so fast, his neck popped painfully in protest. "Leorio, cut it out." Kurapika narrowed his eyes in warning, but the older man didn't seem to notice, as his gaze was still directed somewhere far away.

"I can't cook," the medical student murmured off-handedly as he traced circles on the countertop. "A–And I'm not really the best at cleaning. But I can make you happy." He directed his gaze towards the gaping blond. The sheer reverence and nervousness and drunken confusion that swirled in his eyes rendered Kurapika speechless. "I'll take care of you," he promised with as much fervency a drunk man could possibly possess. "I would."

Kurapika knew better than to take him seriously in this state, but it did make him wonder. The boy couldn't recall a day in his life where he considered settling down, starting a family. His childhood was filled with juvenile dreams of becoming a Hunter, of exploring the vast, vast world with Pairo at his side. And after the massacre, he had replaced those hopes with cold determination, to avenge the innocent, to purge the Spiders by his own hands. Between then and now, the blond never stopped to think about the continuation of his bloodline.

He pressed his lips into a fine line. Perhaps in another life, he would have allowed himself to fall in love and simply _exist_. Not as a vengeful, aimless survivor of an extinct clan, but as Kurapika, the Kurta who loved to read and learn and sing the songs of his people.

And maybe, in another life, he would have allowed himself to truly see Leorio as the thoughtful, kind, _too good for words_ man he is. But as long as the very idea of attachment continued to spark cold tendrils of fear in his heart, such a thing would remain impossible.

Kurapika forced himself make direct eye contact with the medical student, who was currently swaying from side to side dangerously. He focused his gaze on the other man's face, searching for any signs of mockery or dishonesty. Instead, he found nothing but Leorio's trademark warmth and compassion, and the Kurta's earlier agitation slipped away.

"Let's get you back to your room, stupid." The blond hoisted the older man upwards, forcing Leorio to lean on him for support. He gave a faint murmur before complying, a drop of drool threatening to escape from his slackened mouth.

Despite the pleasant buzz the wine left in his head, Kurapika was burdened with _what-ifs_ and _what-could-have-beens_. He was so engrossed in his thoughts, he failed to notice the keen, grey eyes that had been watching the entire debacle from the start.

* * *

Kurapika woke up to his phone buzzing frantically. Cursing inwardly, he flipped the cursed device screen-side-up to read the message.

 **Incoming Message: Leorio**

 **6:37 AM** -KURAPIKA! Damn it, my head's killing me, but I'm sorry about last nigt

-*night

 **6:38 AM** -I know you hate it when I get drunk. I'll make it up to you, okay? Just ignore anything stupid I said… Please?

-Next time, we'll go out and eat something! No alcohol, promise!

The Kurta read each message with an empty smile. Of course he wouldn't remember anything. Not that it mattered; he knew better than to raise his hopes over Leorio's drunken musings.

He shut his phone off before laying back down with a sigh. It couldn't be helped. Leorio deserved better than a broken shell of a man. So did Gon and Killua. As Kurapika closed his eyes, he murmured a prayer that would soon be forgotten, words that would only be remembered by the grass and trees and the wind that carried them.

In his dreamless sleep, his heart cried for freedom.


End file.
